


drabble-containment

by oddsbodkins



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Boreal Boys, Brothers, DreamSMP - Freeform, Early DSMP Fluff, Exile!Tommy, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Pre December 16th, Sam Nook - Freeform, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, Tales From The SMP - Masquerade, cottagecore techno LOL, ghost!tubbo, i wanna just tag that borealtwt but will not, post november 16th
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddsbodkins/pseuds/oddsbodkins
Summary: Bits and pieces of writing that would otherwise have nowhere to go.Chapter 8: Fallen Down - Tubbo and Ranboo share a quiet, easy moment as they watch the snow fall.(Extra scene from my fic "Warden")
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dream Team - Relationship, Ranboo & Philza & Technoblade, Ranboo & Toby Smtih | Tubbo, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade
Comments: 34
Kudos: 495





	1. like the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghostbur takes Techno on an adventure.
> 
> Heavily inspired by WolfyTheWitch's piece _Flowers_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I was sleeping in the garden  
>  When I saw you first  
> He'd put me deep,  
> Deep under so that he could work  
> And like the dawn  
> You broke the dark and my whole earth shook  
> I was sleeping in the garden  
> When I saw you  
> At last, at last  
> Bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh, at last  
>   
> You were the brightest shade  
> Of sun I had ever seen  
> Your skin was gilded with  
> The gold of the richest kings  
> And like the dawn  
> You woke the world inside of me  
> You were the brightest shade  
> Of sun when I saw you  
> And you will surely be the death of me  
> But how could I have known? _  
>   
> \- Like the Dawn, The Oh Hellos

Techno hauled himself up the last few meters of steep slope which guarded the mountain valley that his ghostly brother had insisted that they go and explore, today.

Ghostbur, as he liked to be called, had ended up on Techno’s doorstep about a week previous, giving the recent retiree a real shock upon their first encounter. He hadn’t expected to ever see his brother again - and indeed, the last time he’d seen Wilbur (well, Wilbur’s body) was not a moment he really liked to think back to. But there Wilbur was, not in the uniform of L’Manberg, not in the tattered trench-coat of their time in Pogtopia, but dressed as Techno really remembered him, in a fluffy, sunshine yellow sweater with a beanie perched precariously atop his unruly hair.

Ghostbur was happy. Ghostbur liked to smile, laugh, and distribute powdered blue dye that he would only call “blue.” Ghostbur came and went as he pleased - presumably returning to L’Manberg when he wasn’t around Techno - but Ghostbur also tended to forget things once they were outside his immediate scope, so Techno never bothered to ask what he’d been up to.

This though, this Ghostbur had remembered, even insisted upon, so Techno had acquiesced and joined him in the expedition. It wasn’t like he was particularly busy, in any case - not these days. Retirement stretched out before, interminable and implacable. The voices demanded blood, and he had none left to give them. He would _find_ none to give them. It would be him, and them, and the endless stretches of blank white snow for… well, forever, if things worked out as he intended.

He went to go see the surprise.

Physical distance and obstacles didn’t mean much to Ghostbur, given that he could fly through and over anything in his way, so Techno’s phantasmal twin had neglected to mention how _much_ of a hike it would be. Techno had been wearing multiple layers when they set out, chief amongst them a heavy fur mantle to combat the arctic chill. It had been a necessary item of clothing at the time, sun not yet risen and the morning particularly chilly, but as the day stretched on it had become more and more stifling. He was starting to sweat.

He would ask Ghostbur to hold it, given that he was a ghost and probably didn’t _get_ hot, but… well, it was a particularly good robe, and he didn’t want it getting lost. Ghostbur didn’t tend to keep a hold of things for very long.

For that matter, he wasn’t entirely sure if this valley _did_ exist, or if they were actually heading to it. Ghostbur insisted they were, of course, and he’d been particularly lucid today, but – again - death had not been kind to his brother’s short-term memory.

But that was alright. He appreciated getting to spend time with his twin regardless. Given how he’d thought he’d never get to see Wilbur again, he’d happily trample over a dozen mountains in heavy winter clothes, so long as they were doing so together.

As for why they _had_ to go to this particular valley, that was more unclear. Ghostbur’s expression had lit up when Techno had asked - then curled into something more mischievous. “It’s a secret,” he’d said with a giggle. “But I’m sure you’re going to love it.”

And so they had departed. That had been hours ago, and it was approaching midday. He was going to have to put his foot down when the sun reached its peak, as he’d no desire to be stumbling around unfamiliar terrain in the dark, dodging mobs with only a fickle-minded ghost to aid him.

Ghostbur was still humming happily, sometimes walking at his side, sometimes drifting up above the trees and higher, to the point where Techno lost sight of his translucent body and vaguely worried he’d lose his brother once again. But Will always came back, in his way - absentmindedly, delightedly, as if he was surprised to find Techno all over again.

Again, given that Ghostbur was meant to be his guide for this particular expedition, well - lets just say, it did not inspire great confidence. Let's just leave it at that.

Ghostbur had insisted, though, that they were close, and indeed the gradual upward gradient they had been following began to rise sharply. Soon Techno could also see above the trees, and realized with some surprise that his cabin was still within eyesight - quaint and diminutive in the distance, noticeable only because of the expanse of snowfields that served as its backdrop. Smoke rose in lazy twists out of the chimney, and Techno realized that Phil must have stopped by for a visit. That, or he’d left the fire going - but since the whole thing hadn’t burnt down yet, he thought that probably wasn’t the case. He hoped their dad would still be there by the time they got back. It was so difficult to get all of them in the same room, these days, even with Tommy being MIA.

Higher and higher, and soon the end of the slope was just ahead of him - Ghostbur was floating up where the ground leveled out, which made it much easier to judge distance - and then, with a final grunt of tired effort, he’d finally arrived.

And, true to word - it was a beautiful surprise.

Pale, delicate yellow flowers practically spilled out of the valley, stretching as far as he could see, heads rippling in the gentle breeze. Mountainsides rose to either side of him, and just ahead they sloped so that he could almost see the lands beyond. If he went just a little further, a little higher, he probably might.

But that wasn’t for today.

Today, he let Wilbur lead him to a good spot for sitting. His brother was beside himself: “You love it! I can tell. I knew you would - oh, Techno, isn’t it gorgeous? I was flying, the other day - I can do that now that I’m dead - I was flying, and I saw this great splash of yellow, and I was very curious about it! I ended up spending a whole day here, I didn’t even realize until it got dark, I just love how it’s so _yellow_ \- “ Techno could feel a great tension unwinding in his chest as he hummed and nodded along at the appropriate parts.

The sky was blue, the air was cool, the sun was warm, and the flowers were golden. He let his head tip back, eyes close, and relaxed for what felt like the first time in a long, long while.

Eventually, he realized that Wilbur had stopped talking. He cracked an eye open, just as he felt a hand softly brush against his hair.

“There, I knew you would like it here,” his brother murmured, much closer than he’d been before. There was a bundle of flowers in the crook of his arm, and one in his hand - he paused when he noticed Techno watching, eyebrows going up in a silent request for permission. Techno smiled easily in assent, and Ghostbur smiled back, as he gently began to weave flowers into Techno’s hair.

“Do you remember how we used to do this as children,” he said, still quietly, a marked difference from his happy burble of earlier. “You used to drag me out to practice sparring, and I wouldn’t last more than a few rounds before giving up and whining and dragging my feet until you took me out someplace for an adventure. We’d always end up in that one field by the house, but I never really cared - so long as we could call it an adventure, I was perfectly content. And you’d let me braid flowers into your hair.” He tugged at a lock, now shoulder length, and his smile dropped a bit at the edges. “I miss your long hair. Why’d you get rid of it?”

Techno sighed through his nose. A cloud passed in front of the sun, and the abrupt absence of warmth was mirror to the shift in mood. “I only kept it around for you, and you - well, I, uh, didn’t think you were around, anymore. I hacked it all off with my sword once I moved out here.”

“Oh.” Wilbur frowned, tugging once more before letting the hair slip from his hand. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I won’t do it again,” Techno said, then tilted his head back to smile again at his brother, “so long as you’re around to help me braid it.”

“Of course I’ll be,” Wilbur grinned back, and humming happily, resumed his work with the flowers.

They passed the time like that, until Techno reluctantly broke the reverie to head back home. The walk was easier now that he knew the way, and though Phil wasn’t there by the time that they’d got back, he’d left a stew simmering on the coals for Techno’s dinner, and a note saying that he’d try and catch Techno tomorrow. Ghostbur didn’t stick around, either - something about checking on Tommy now that the “bad man” was out of the way, whatever that meant - and soon Techno was alone again.

He thought to himself, though, as he carefully pressed golden buds to dry between the pages of his journal, that it was a different quality of alone than before. He’d come out here completely intending to isolate himself, to wrap himself in resentment and grief and to leave the civilization that had so wronged him in his dust.

But there was stew. And there were flowers.

And the night did not seem so dark, nor the snow so endless, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoy this! i was gonna go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight, and then that speedpaint came up in my YT recommended and i was like.... the Oh Hellos have filled me with Motivation, Oh No. so now its 4am lmaooooooo
> 
> but i like this :) it was nice to write. made me miss mountains, and flowers, and sunshine. shrug
> 
> Full credit to [@WolfyTheWitch](https://twitter.com/WolfyTheWitch), also known as [The Channel Without a Name on YT](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChSciKtfmRO5YsjZ0MQYMcg), for the [beautiful piece](https://twitter.com/WolfyTheWitch/status/1339173273100197889?s=20) that inspired this - and her [speedpaint](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uufh_PUVP6I), with its wonderful soundtrack that _especially_ inspired me to write this :D


	2. Dear Wormwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and Tommy in exile. Dream unintentionally leads Tommy to the correct conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“When I was a child  
>  I didn't hear a single word you said  
> The things I was afraid of  
> They were all confined beneath my bed  
> But the years have been long  
> And you have taught me well to hide away  
> The things that I believed in  
> You've taught me to call them all escapes_  
>   
>  _There before the threshold  
>  I saw a brighter world beyond myself  
> And in my hour of weakness  
> You were there to see my courage fail  
> For the years have been long  
> And you have taught me well to sit and wait  
> Planning without acting  
> Steadily becoming what I hate_  
>   
>  _I know who you are now  
>  I know who you are  
> I know who you are now_  
>   
>  _I have always known you  
>  You have always been there in my mind  
> But now I understand you  
> And I will not be part of your designs_  
>   
>  _I know who I am now  
>  And all that you've made of me  
> I know who you are now  
> And I name you my enemy_  
>   
>  _I know who I am now  
>  I know who I want to be  
> I want to be more than  
> This devil inside of me." _  
>   
>  \- Dear Wormwood, Oh Hellos

Tommy pushed himself up and spat off to the side, scowling. Thatmask - that stupid fucking mask, with its stupid fucking smiley - was the first thing he saw as he looked back up, as Dream bent over him, chuckling in that way that meant he was actually pretty pissed.

“You’re so _stupid_ , Tommy. Why do you keep doing this? I mean, what’re you hoping to achieve? I bring you all the way out here, I offer you friendship and some relaxation, and what do you do? Burrow through the ground, hide away your stuff like the little _rat_ that you are.”

He leaned back and, with one foot, roughly kicked Tommy back so that he sprawled on the ground once more. A rock penetrated the thin, worn fabric of his t-shirt and dragged across his skin, eliciting a pained groan.

“Oh, don’t pretend that actually hurt - I barely touched you,” Dream scoffed. He turned away and continue examining the most recent TNT crater he’d left in the ground as Tommy picked himself back up, more slowly this time.

“I even made you such a kind offer, yesterday, when I offered to take you on as an apprentice. And this is how you repay it,” Dream eventually continued, tone now mild and disappointed, a stark contrast to the blind, sickening rage he’d shown when he’d first popped out of the portal on today’s “surprise visit” and seen Tommy with armor again.

This - _place -_ was fucking with Tommy’s head.

Tommy _knew_ it was fucking with his head, because he could feel the tone actually _working_ on him - for a moment he actually felt bad, for letting Dream down in such a way. He shook his head like he could physically shake off the sensation.

“It wasn’t a real offer and you know it. Quit lying.”

“It was! It _was_ real. You’ve got such potential, Tommy, when you’re not wasting it on stupid things like - I dunno, loyalty.”

“How can you get mad at me for breaking your rules, then call loyalty stupid?” Tommy gave up on standing back up, collapsing into the grass and squinting up at the man. Dream scoffed, propping a hand up on his hip, but at least he didn’t seem mad at the question. He could be unpredictable.

“It’s not _loyalty_ , it’s like, basic intelligence. You _know_ I’m just going to come back and see this stuff, and you _continue_ to beat your head against the wall - it’s frustrating, Tommy! Do you think I _like_ being like this? I don’t. I really enjoy the visits where I just get to hang out with you, and you don’t like, try to run off or anything. But you _just, keep, pushing it_.” He waved a hand to punctuate each word, bending towards Tommy again as the barest thread of that dangerous tone wormed its way back in. Dream raised his hand, and Tommy closed his eyes, cringing as -

\- as Dream flicked him on the nose, then laughed as Tommy cautiously cracked an eye open when no violence followed. Dream pulled away, so Tommy relaxed, finally managing a weak chuckle of his own.

“God, you’re so scared of me now, it’s hilarious. If I’d known the way to get you to shut up was just to get you alone for a couple of weeks, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

Tommy crinkled his nose in confusion. “What d’you mean? You wanted Tubbo to exile me ‘cause I burnt George’s house.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve come up with some other reason, before. I mean, you make a habit out of pissing people off, Tommy. I could’ve picked from a _laundry list_ of reasons to get you exiled. Hell, even just with _George_ , the house burning thing wasn’t the only excuse I could’ve given.”

“Wait. You’re saying… that was an _excuse_? Just to get me exiled?” Tommy asked, feeling like something very important was just barely dawning in his mind. But it was slow, too slow, with his brain in the confused morass it’d been for the last few weeks. And Dream’s incredulous stare wasn’t helping.

“Well duh. I thought you’d already figured that out, by now.” Then he snorted and began walking back to the portal, ruffling Tommy’s hair in passing and ignoring the way the boy flinched. “Whatever. I guess I shoulda figured - like I said, if you were smart, you would’ve figured out how to quit getting _beat up_ by now.” His voice faded as he walked away. Finally, pausing in front of the portal, he called, “I’ve got things to do for the rest of today, but I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t get too… comfortable _._ ”

And with that menacing little quip as parting, he disappeared into the purple haze.

Tommy stared at the space he’d occupied, for a while, brain churning, before his arms gave out and he collapsed back to the ground.

The sky was beautiful today, he noted absently.

If he was smart, he would’ve figured out how to quit getting hurt. Dream’s voice looped in his head, and he considered the thought with a kind of tired detachment.

Dream had fabricated the whole reason to exile him. Well, Tommy _had_ actually burnt George’s house, obviously, but Dream… hadn’t actually cared.

He’d wanted Tommy out here, exiled, just to shut him up. He _needed_ Tommy to shut up, and went to these great lengths to achieve that.

That meant something. It meant..

It meant that Dream was -

Dream was -

Was Dream... _scared_ of him?

A bee droned near his ear as he he slipped into unconsciousness.

He dreamed of music, and a bench.


	3. Tom Nook Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's stream from January 25th, approximately the first thirty minutes. Sam gets captured by the Eggpire, but springs back at a record pace from the trauma so that he can resume his role of being Tommy's Sam Nook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tom nook theme noises*
> 
> \- Tom Nook Theme, ACNH

When Tommy and Puffy finally left, squabbling amiably, Sam’s knees gave out and he slid down against the wall.

The basement became quiet and still once more. Fran huffed and sniffed his ear, nudging his cheek with her cold, wet nose when he didn’t respond. He left his eyes drift shut, but that didn't help with how the world seemed unsteady beneath him.

He was shaking. His body ached. His flesh had regrown, but he could still taste it. He spat to the side, slapping a hand over his mouth when more than saliva threatened to come up.

When it felt safe to remove his hand again, he fished a baked potato out of his bag and began nibbling on it. Without much thought he passed one to Fran as well - who just gave him a look and pushed it out of the way so that she could plop to the floor, curling up against his side.

The world was still tilting on its axis around him - honestly, it was a wonder he managed to get back. Even the last hour was hazy in his memory -he remembered Tommy and Puffy trying to chivvy him along, complaining about his speed and general confusion, when all he could think was red red red, blood blood blood.

He flexed his hands. They were whole.

They trembled.

He also remembered Tommy mentioning Sam Nook, which was… a whole other mess. He’d promised Tommy he would help build his hotel. He told Tommy he wouldn’t leave. He got taken.

Tommy either didn’t know or refused to acknowledge that Sam and Sam Nook were the same person, which meant that Tommy thought he’d been abandoned. Again.

He groaned, head falling loose on his neck and thunking against the wall of the little alcove they’d dug for him. He ignored the pain.

“I’ve gotta get back, Fran,” he said, voice hoarse and broken from how he'd screamed as the Egg had eaten away at him. The dog lifted her head to look at him, eyes black and liquid as the dark inside it.

“No, really. I’ve gotta get back. I can’t be another person who lets Tommy down, no matter what he…” He tried to push himself and groaned as his arms wobbled. He felt pathetic.

“This sucks. Who knew an egg could take it out of you like this, huh?”

Fran still didn’t reply, but she stood. And between the wall and her solid weight, the next time he tried to get to his feet, he managed it.

Now he only had to make it all the way back to town.

“…shit,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his face. In his mind, rotten flesh squelched.

-

It took scarfing down a bucket of milk and a golden apple, in that order, and then expending a full stack of ender pearls to get across the Nether before Tommy and Puffy made it back, but in the end he managed it.

He pulled himself atop the Prime Path and rolled into position, popping up just as he saw the pair stepping out of Puffy’s. He glanced at the sign out of the corner of his eye and realized that he hadn’t updated it - he’d brought the safety vest but hadn’t switched out the sign, fuck - and in a flurry as they were still distracted he yanked the maps out of his pocket and reorganized them.

Tommy finally rounded the corner and noticed him not a moment later.

“Sam? Sam Nook?!” The boy exclaimed, nearly falling over himself in surprise and quickly dawning delight. He scrambled up the stairs and popped back up mere inches away from Sam’s face, before remembering himself and hastily, embarrassedly, putting a considerate distance between the two of them. Then excitement took the reins once more and he began bouncing on the tips of his toes.

“Is that really you?! I came by earlier and you weren’t here, and I was so worried!” His hands flexed at his sides, and he reached out as if to grab Sam by the arm, but hesitated and let it fall back to his side, awkwardly.

Puffy trailed in his wake, fixing Sam with a skeptical stare where Tommy couldn’t see. He shrugged, mentally. He didn’t trust her, she didn’t trust him, such was the way of things around here. So long as she didn’t hurt the kids.

Tommy had fairly begun to vibrate with impatience so Sam suppressed a smile and began, in a language so long dead that Tommy thought it merely gibberish, “HELLO AGAIN TOMMYINNIT…”

-

As Tommy finally bounced away, off to look for Hearts of the Sea (so that he could “eat” them, but in reality just so that he could take a break to rest and recuperate without the boy getting suspicious), Sam sighed deeply and finally let himself fall out of the rigid posture he’d assumed for the last few hours.

He was “hibernating” now. He guzzled a potion of invisibility and started on his way back home.

Blood vines were creeping their way across town. He’d need to build a perimeter between the Egg and the hotel, to avoid a situation like this happening again… fuck, he might even need to consider implementing further exterior defenses for the prison. If he’d learned anything from this, it was that the ‘Eggpire’ was a much more serious threat than he’d initially thought them to be. They were much stealthier than Dream, and though their cause had a straightforward goal, he’d need to consider and defend against the many, many paths they might take towards reaching it.

So much to be done, so little time to do it, at the rate events were moving. There would be retribution against Puffy for helping to rescue him; there would be further retribution against _him_ for rescuing Tommy and Tubbo. He couldn’t let himself get taken like that again. Not only would he probably not survive a second imprisonment in the Egg, but then who would defend the children? Nobody, nobody in these lands could be trusted with the task but him. He’d taken up a cause and had something more important than himself to live for.

Well, _two_ causes, as he needed to keep Dream imprisoned as well - but that fed into protecting Tommy, so he could consider it an umbrella cause, in any case.

He made it home hours later, dead on his feet from what would’ve been a long and tiresome day _without_ all the underlying Egg-related trauma, and absently let a hand drift over the red grass block and vines in the middle of his foyer. They twined around him, ever so slightly, and tugged back.

He didn't think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fthere is a little gnome in my brain and every day it looks at media and goes "i could make a found family dymanic out of this" and i am incapable of resisting
> 
> i am also so dizzy and tired. life sucks lol.


	4. Pale White Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale White Horse - Tubbo haunts Techno, and not in a friendly way. AU where nobody came to the rescue in the season finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _It was a pale white horse_  
>  _With a crooked smile_  
>  _And I knew it was my time_  
>  _It was the raging storm_  
>  _Of a foreign war_  
>  _And a face I'd seen before_  
>   
>  \- Pale White Horse, The Oh Hellos  
>   
> 

It’s a nightmare he has commonly.

Well, that is to say - he has nightmares, commonly, and this one features in them.

It’s a hit, to put it figuratively. A critical success. The audience of whatever in his brain likes to torture him with his worst memories - the voices, perhaps - has greeted it with rave reviews, demanded an encore.

The day was clear and beautiful, the perfect day for a festival. Schlatt was off to the side, with that charming, crooked smile - and ram’s horns, and black, piercing eyes. Techno attributed these altered characteristics to his subconsciousness’s flair for dramatics.

Tubbo was in a box before him. He was clinging to the bars, watching Techno load up the crossbow, trust and hope leaking out of his expression like a bullet-hole riddled sieve. He was pale. He was talking.

  
“Techno? You - you wouldn’t, right? Tommy said you weren’t going to - he said you wouldn’t actually hurt me.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Techno said quietly. It wasn’t quietly enough - Schlatt waltzed over, into his personal space, and draped an arm over his shoulder.

“Nothing personal, he says!” He called, voice effortlessly projecting out over the audience. “Isn’t that a kicker. Well it’s personal to _me_ , Techno - so get it over with already, will ya?”

People in the crowd were starting to speak up - Fundy, Niki, who were already secretly on their side. Tommy and Wilbur were watching from a nearby rooftop - Techno _knew_ they were, could even see how Tubbo’s gaze darted from him to them, waiting for the same intervention he was hoping for.

But none came.

His crossbow was loaded.

“Come on Techno, don’t let me down. There’s enough of that going around today already.” Schlatt was trying for serious but couldn’t quite keep the glee out of his voice, and even in this nightmare Techno could hear the voices echoing him - _blood, no don’t do it, yes do it, kill the child, death to orphans! he’s just a kid, let him go, KILL SCHLATT, where’s Wilbur? BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD_ \- it’s all too much. He primed the firework and he shot, and shot again and again and again -

But then it’s not Tubbo in the cage but him. The bars are ice-cold against his hands. Ghostbur’s wandering around nearby, that happy, absent smile on his face. Phil’s watching helplessly from his balcony. And Tubbo -

Tubbo is standing there, no pity in his expression, hand on the lever. “It's nothing personal,” he says, and pulls it, and the pain is immense as the anvil crushes his body cruelly, relentlessly, but he still Just

Can’t

Die.

There’s a blast of green light and everything is whole and functional again, but he’s still in the cage, and Tubbo’s still there, and this time Technoblade flings the Totem away from him and slits his own throat with the knife hidden in the folds of his robe, that he might break the cycle of agony.

He jolted awake in his cold, lonely arctic cabin. It was night. It was quiet.

He was breathing hard, and could feel sweat trickling down his spine. He groaned, and rolled out of bed - he wouldn't be falling asleep again any time soon.

Philza started awake as Techno thumped through the living room - he’d taken to sleeping on the couch, insisted that he preferred it to the bed no matter all the times and ways that Techno had offered to switch. He squinted and croaked out an inquiry - Techno waved him down, a silent “all clear.”

There’ve been enough of these incidents since Phil’d started living with him that Phil understood what'd happened and realized there was not much he could do about it. They’d probably have a talk in the morning, as a part of Phil’s never-ending quest to ameliorate Techno’s emotional issues, but for the time being the other man just flopped into a more comfortable position on the couch and went back to sleep.

Techno closed the door quietly, brushed snow off the steps and took a seat on them, and began the methodic, mindless task of sharpening his sword.

He’d rather forgotten that Phil had procured a new neighbor, so when a chipper, inquisitive voice piped up from behind him, “Whatcha doin’?”, he felt he could be forgiven for nearly taking their head off.

Ranboo, the new neighbor in question, stared wide-eyed at the sword quivering in the snow at his feet. “Wow. I didn’t know you could even through sword that far.”

Techno grunted. “Missed.”

“Oh. I thought you just weren’t aiming for - oh. I, um. Ok. I guess I should just, uh, be going then?”

“I don’t actually want to hurt you,” Techno rolled his eyes, feeling compelled to explain for some reason (probably the thought of Phil’s sad eyes when Ranboo inevitably went crying to him about this.) “You just surprised me, is all. Don’t do that.”

“Ok. I will - add that to the list of things not to do around here. Surprise Technoblade. Mhm - won’t be doing that anymore! Sorry for, uh, scaring you.” Ranboo edged backwards, into the darkness once more.

Techno snorted. “What’re you doin’ skulkin’ around out here, anyways?”

“Oh! Well - I dunno, I guess I just like to go for walks at night. It’s my favorite time of day.”

“ _Night._ Is your favorite time of _day_ ,” Techno repeated skeptically. Ranboo didn’t seem to get his point.

“Yeah, it’s great! It’s so dark and quiet - and I can chat with the other Endermen I see. It’s very peaceful.”

“That’s… nice. I guess. What do the Endermen say?”

“Oh, you know. Little Endermen things.” Ranboo paused and took a second look at Technoblade. “Wait, what’re _you_ doing out so late? Not that you’re not allowed to,” he added hastily, “Or anything like that, I didn’t mean to imply, I was just - wondering, is all.”

“Nightmares,” Techno grunted.

“Oh.” Ranboo frowned a little in surprise. “I didn’t, uh… I didn’t realize you got those.”

“What, thought that the big bad warrior would be immune to the ghosts of his past?” Techno asked dryly, and Ranboo laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I realize now that sounds kind of rude, sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Don’t worry, you’re not goin' to hurt my feelings.”

“Alright. I’m, uh, glad to hear that. And I’m sorry. About the nightmare.” He seemed to have relaxed a little - that was good. Him being on edge put _Techno_ on edge - he’d never liked how people treated him like glass ‘cause they were afraid of his reputation.

“It’s nothin’. I’ll be headin’ back inside once I get this done - the motion helps to settle my head.”

“Oh, alright. Well then, uh - I guess I’ll see you around.” Ranboo yanked the sword from the snow rather effortlessly - which was impressive, as it wasn't a particularly light thing - and passed it back to Techno, who accepted it with an appreciative nod.

“Night, Ranboo.”

“Goodnight, Techno.” The hybrid spared him a smile, a genuine one this time, and faded back into the night. Techno set back to his sharpening. He had just finished when he heard the crunch of snow, and thinking that Ranboo must’ve returned, glanced up.

There was a boy standing in the snowfield - but this was definitely not Ranboo. He was small, with a mop of messy dark hair, and juvenile ram’s horns peeking out of it. He had a loaded crossbow in his hands and gleaming, pale eyes.

Techno frowned. “Tubbo? Is that - is that you? What’re you doin’ all the way out here - and alone, at that?”

The boy lifted his crossbow, leveling it directly at Technoblade. Techno paused, fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword in surprise - getting straight to business, weren’t they - and considered his options.

Green flashed in his mind. He sighed.

He was tired.

He set the sword aside.

“Go on then. Get your revenge. May it quiet both our minds,” he said finally. Tubbo was still mute - but he smiled.

It was a dark, crooked smile, unnatural on a face built for more peaceful times. It reminded him of another face, a festival day.

The moment passed in the space of a breath, a split-second to consider that he’d probably regret this decision, if he lived to see sunlight once more - and Tubbo pulled the trigger, and fired, and Techno really tried not to cringe but some things are just instinctual and he flinched as he waited for the pain to come -

But it never did. He opened his eyes.

The snowfield was blank and empty. Tubbo was nowhere to be seen.

But there was a quiet thrum, and when he turned, he saw an arrow embedded in the wood directly behind him - at such an angle and placement that it should have gone directly through his heart.

He stared at it until it stopped vibrating, until everything was still again. Then he collected his sword, and his whetstone, and went back inside. Phil didn’t stir.

Techno sat leaning against the fireplace and stared at the wall behind Phil’s sleeping body until he eventually fell asleep again. He didn’t dream. When Phil finally woke up, in the morning, he exclaimed with some dismay - “Techno, if you were upset, you should’ve just woken me up! You’ve got a perfectly good bed in the other room, no need to sleep on the floor, you blockhead,” - and Techno accepted the chastisement quietly.

In between the goodhearted scolding and their typical morning routine, he could see Phil shooting him increasingly concerned looks - but he didn’t acknowledge them. Rather, he eventually went to the door, and took a look outside.

There was no arrow - there was no mark.

But what there was, was a little twinge, just over his heart.

He closed the door again and sat down to breakfast. Later that morning, Ranboo burst in with some pressing news - Tommy had been captured and Tubbo slain, in their final attempt to wrest the disks from Dream.

-

Weeks later and he and Ranboo were out on a treasure-hunting adventure. He and the boy had gotten quite close - closer than he might’ve liked, in fact, given how trusting Tommy had resulted in such a debacle.

Techno didn’t know Ranboo’s intentions. He didn’t know Ranboo’s motivations. Hell, he didn’t know if _Ranboo_ knew Ranboo’s motivations - the boy seemed very… spacey. Like, Ghostbur was spacey, but he had the whole being dead thing to credit that to. Ranbo was just… weird.

Nice, though. Oh, the kid was perfectly nice. Sweet, even. He fell over himself trying to be helpful. Such as it was that Techno had been invited along on this adventure, though Ranboo was the owner of the maps and had no reason to share the spoils, beyond the fact that he just seemed to be a good person.

Ranboo’s good nature reminded Techno of Philza - he could see why they got along.

They were midway through the adventure, sailing through one of the great oceans that ringed the Dream SMP, when Ranboo looked at something just over Techno’s shoulder and laughed.

“How strange. Hey, do you see that? There’s some weird cross on that island - that can’t be a natural formation.”

Techno turned to look, and indeed saw the cross.

He also saw a young boy sitting on one of its arms.

He had a mop of curly brown hair, with juvenile ram’s horns peeking out of it, and a crossbow cradled in his arms. When he saw that Techno had noticed him, he saluted jauntily with the weapon - then he loaded it, aimed, and fired.

An arrow went directly through Techno’s head and hit the deck of the boat behind him. He didn’t feel it - but a second later, a nick opened in his forehead, and blood began running down into his eye.

“Whatever, I guess. Weird.” Ranboo shrugged and turned back to Techno, then recoiled. “Woah! How’d that happen? Here, wait, let me - “ He began rummaging through their supplies, looking for a bandage, but Techno just pressed his sleeve to the wound.

“Hey, Ranboo?”

“Hm?”

“D’you know anything about ghosts? Or like - seein’ things that others don’t?”

Ranboo’s hurried movements halted, and he went very still. Slowly he looked up at Techno.

“I might. May I ask why?”

Technoblade pulled his sleeve from his forehead, and the wound began bleeding again. He considered the bloodstain on his sleeve wryly.

“I don’t think that Tubbo’s quite left us, yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this at 2am and, in contemplating hauntings, managed to spook myself - but i am a baby when it comes to anything related to the supernatural, so that's not a huge surprise. 
> 
> this is a little more high concept than i usually go for in fanfiction, but i find that my more depressing stuff usually turns out that way. i was just thinking about how death made wilbur - this angry, bitter character - into somebody very sweet but sad, his fire into blue, and i was like - man, ghost!tubbo would be _pissed off_ , lmao. and he and Techno have so much unresolved conflict.
> 
> i didn’t have tubbo talk, though, ‘cause so much of his current character is talking and nobody listening - i think fruitless discussion is another thing he’d discard, in the afterlife.


	5. masquerade!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> made up a short scene in tales from the smp: masquerade
> 
> just wanted to write a bit with these characters - they were so fun and awful. writing awful people is so fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Masquerade!  
>  Paper faces on parade . . .  
> Masquerade!  
> Hide your face,  
> So the world will  
> Never find you!_  
>   
>  _Masquerade!  
>  Seething shadows  
> Breathing lies . . .  
> Masquerade!  
> You can fool  
> Any friend who  
> Ever knew you!_  
>   
> \- Masquerade, Phantom of the Opera

The room was dark; the sweeping candelabras, inset wall sconces, and the large, glittering chandelier dominating the room's center still didn’t quite manage to spread light to all the nooks and crannies of its expanse. Billiam didn’t particularly care. In fact, he was more at ease than he’d been whilst greeting them in the entryway, where the picture windows had cast the blood-red dregs of sunset upon his silhouette.

“You’ve certainly... _improved_ upon the decor,” Lyaria murmured as she brushed past him. She was stunning as always, tonight enshrouded in a sparkling confection of sky blue, and he felt a brief pang of regret that he’d invited her to _this_ party in particular.

Regret was for the poors, though. He discarded it as an unuseful emotion.

“Was that sarcasm, my dear?” Billiam asked.

“I’d never,” she shot back, eyes widening innocently. “Really, ‘can’t afford decent lighting’ is such a good look on you. Keeps you from noticing those wrinkles and grey hairs.”

“I think you’ve confused me for Oliver. That’s quite alright - they do say that memory is first to go, so I imagine you’re already struggling.”

Lyaria laughed, the first and likely last real laugh they’d hear from her all night, and left him behind as she swept towards the drinks.

“You’ll get her eventually,” Oliver chirped, patting him on the arm as he also entered. Billiam wrinkled his nose and discreetly shifted away -Butler passed him a handkerchief when Oliver’s back was fully turned, and Billiam used it to wipe the point of contact clean, carelessly tossing the cloth to the floor when he was finished.

“Ooh, was that some _romantic tension_ going on?” Karl asked as he entered next, grinning and rubbing his hands together. He was talking to Billiam, but his eyes were on Butler picking the handkerchief up - it seemed like Billiam would need to teach Butler another lesson about discretion, when this whole affair was finished.

“Oliver’s an old fool. Lyria and I are merely good acquaintances - as such relationships go in our social strata," he sniffed.

“Right, right,” Karl said. He _still_ didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation - instead he was now watching as James entered the room, adjusting his tie and cufflinks as he did so.

Billiam smirked. “But here you are asking about my own tensions… James, hm? That's an interesting choice - freshly divorced and emotionally unstable as he is.”

“What? Oh, what, no - I just, um, he just reminds me of somebody that I knew. At a - a, uh, different time.”

“Perhaps you should go and talk to him, then,” Billiam said, trying to discretely usher the stranger on so that the party might get under way. The subtlety seemed to be wasted, though - Karl stared at him blankly, and Billiam pressed his lips in a thin line as he considered just physically pushing the man into the ballroom.

Before he could decide, however, he heard a scuffle in the hallway. He only realized that Butler had left his side when he heard his subordinate’s voice in the midst of it.

“Sir, please, I really must insist - your attire is wholly inappropriate for the gathering…”

“You - you goddamn rich, snobby elites are tryna control my self-expression! If you hopped-up, cantankerous socialites can mosey about dressin’ this way ’n that, then I can wear what makes me _comfortable_. Ain’t no way I’m changin’ into any monkey suit’a yers.”

“ _But this isn't a public area_ , sir - it's a home! You can’t just run around wherever and _however_ you’d like!” His Butler sounded the most distressed that Billiam had ever heard him - and given that Billiam required Butler go to great lengths to ensure that Billiam did not _have_ to hear him, he wasn’t particularly pleased with this development.

“Yes - let us all be mindful of the rights inherent to private property ownership, and treat this home with _respect_ ," That was Sebastian. Really, Billiam need to keep better track of his guests, as he’d hardly realized these last two had wandered off.

“I'on know 'bout that - ain’t owned shit ‘ceptin these two hands, Mister Satan - “

“It’s _Lord Sebastian_.”

“An’ I been _tellin_ ’ you that there ain’t no Lord but the one true Lord, no sir!”

“It’s just a _title!_ ”

Butler took a long and quelling breath. “Alright - yes, Lord Sebastian, I quite agree that we should all just comply with my Master’s wishes for the party and just… move - move along…”

Butler noticed Billiam leaning against the wall, observing the little kerfuffle, and gulped nervously. The other two tracked his line of sight.

“Ah, there you are, Sir Billiam - I was wondering where you’d gotten off to," Sebastian huffed.

“The ballroom. This _is_ a dance, after all,” Billiam said dryly, pointing to the open doors down the hallway.

Lord Sebastian cleared his throat. “Quite right. I will go and join the others, then, and let you handle this… business.” He eyed Drew before sniffing contemptuously and stalking away.

Drew put a hand on his hip - unfortunately drawing the eye to that region of his body, if only for a second - and appeared braced for yet another fight. The commoner really seemed composed of nine parts crass vulgarity, and one part indomitable will.

Billiam sighed. He’d be glad to kill this one.

“You truly don’t have a change of clothes?” He asked, already capitulating, but figuring he’d at least _ask_. It seemed to be the opportunity that Drew was looking for - he surged back into the monologue he’d been conducting when Billiam had arrived.

“Y’all’re out here _policin’_ me - my _body_ , my _thoughts_ \- with your snooty-ass _party_ ’n shenanigans ’n such; well I’m here to tell you, _no more_! I am _free_ , baby - and I am plannin' on lettin’ it _all_ hang out.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Butler made another noise Billiam had never heard from him before - something like a mouse being stepped on. It was an interesting noise. Given the choice between thinking about what Drew had just implied and envisioning mice being squashed, Billiam desperately clung to the latter.

“Dispatch him.”

“Gladly, sir.” A gleaming Netherite sword materialized in Butler’s hand - Billiam couldn’t quite remember giving that to him, but Butler had his ways. Drew squeaked and hurried to put Billiam between the two of them.

“Woah! Woah woah woah - ok, alright, you were sayin’ the party’s this way? Well I’ll just mosey on over, maybe find that Karl fella so you don’t, uh, do anythin' _hasty_ \- alright, buhbye!” He practically sprinted to the doors - Billiam had to look away as the swimsuit, which was already doing an inadequate job of covering his body parts, began slipping.

There was brief moment of blessed, peaceful silence, before Billiam forced himself to go and rejoin the party.

“This whole affair is unbelievably taxing,” he complained to Butler as they walked. “Next time let’s just drug them - offer it as a welcome drink, or something of the sort.” Butler nodded compliantly. Or, that is, Billiam assumed so - he’d already been looking at commoners enough tonight, he wouldn’t bother sullying his eyes to confirm such an inanity.

They stepped into the ballroom. The music had begun playing - the guests were gathered in small clumps, already having helped themselves to the drinks - but they all looked over as Billiam made his entrance.

“Let the masquerade begin,” he murmured, and Butler hummed in agreement at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe word count funny number :)
> 
> i saw quackity in tonights skin and think i lost all my braincells LOL im gonna go sleep it off. tysm to the tftsmp cast & karl - y'all killed it.


	6. vanilla twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George takes a nap while his friends finish building the community house in their first days on the server, and absolutely nothing bad happens.
> 
> No, really. It's just fluff.  
> Implied to mild dnf - if that's not your thing, consider skipping this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _The stars lean down to kiss you  
>  And I lie awake and miss you  
> Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere  
> 'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly  
> But I'll miss your arms around me  
> I'd send a postcard to you, dear  
> 'Cause I wish you were here  
>   
> I'll watch the night turn light blue  
> But it's not the same without you  
> Because it takes two to whisper quietly  
> The silence isn't so bad  
> 'Til I look at my hands and feel sad  
> 'Cause the spaces between my fingers  
> Are right where yours fit perfectly  
>   
> I'll find repose in new ways  
> Though I haven't slept in two days  
> 'Cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone  
> But drenched in vanilla twilight  
> I'll sit on the front porch all night  
> Waist deep in thought because when  
> I think of you, I don't feel so alone_  
>    
> \- "Vanilla Twilight", Owl City

George lounged in the sunlight, back to the trunk of an oak tree.

“You can help out anytime, you know,” Sapnap muttered as he passed by, shifting the lumber on his shoulder so that he could aim a gentle kick at George’s leg - well, gentle by Sapnap standards. George shifted out of the way of it before resettling into a decadent stretch.

“I _do_ know,” he said smugly. Dream caught their conversation as he also passed by and chuckled.

“Sapnap, do you really think he’d be any help? I mean, look at him,” he said, gesturing. George raised his chin indignantly.

“Excuse you, I’d be plenty of help,” he protested, even as Sapnap also barked a laughed and said, “True.”

They wandered off to place their burdens at the border of the community house that was swiftly growing in the center of the lake.

A shadow blocking the sunlight from his face heralded another arrival. George looked up and squinted at them.

“Bad, Sapnap and Dream are being mean to me,” he whined, straightening slightly to get a better look at the demon - who raised an unsympathetic eyebrow.

“That’s because everybody else is building, and you’re taking a nap.”

“I can help build later,” George rolled his eyes. “Besides, it’s a perfect time for a nap - and nobody’s _making_ you build.”

“It’s going to be dark soon! The mobs are going to come out,” Bad protested.

“And I have a perfectly nice dirt hole that I’ll be retiring to when that happens,” George replied smugly.

The demon huffed loudly in frustration before joining the others. George let the loud staccato of construction lull him back to sleep.

-

The angle of the sun was significantly lower the next time he woke. The rat-tat-tat of hammers and rhythmic static of saws had faded - when he cracked an eye and looked to the community house, it was empty. They’d actually made quite a significant amount of progress; only a few finishing touches like glass for the windows and crenellations for the roof remained.

Somebody shifted to his side. He groaned and straightened, looking over at them.

It was Dream. He was whittling away at a stick - blade flashing in the dying sunlight as he slowly, surely carved the outer bark away.

“Oh look, Sleeping Beauty finally decides to wake up. Have a nice nap?”

“Could’ve been better. Back’s a little stiff, now.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if you’d _helped_ us, you could’ve been sleeping in a real bed by now.”

“It seems like you all did just fine without me,” George grinned at Dream, who tried to hold on to his annoyed expression, but folded momentarily, rolling his eyes again even as an answering smile stretched across his face. He nudged George in the side with his elbow.

“It did occur to me that without you and Sapnap getting into arguments every two seconds, building went much quicker.”

“ _Me_ and Sapnap? Oh come on - he starts arguments with everybody in his _proximity_. Like the two of you are much better.” George folded his arms. “In fact, I’m surprised that _you two_ got any work done - childish as you are.”

“Bad did have to do a lot of yelling,” Dream admitted with a laugh. “It didn’t achieve much. But then he started building in silence and we felt bad, so that got us to working.”

“You know he does that on purpose.”

“I know,” Dream said with a smile. A wood chip went flying as it got carved away at an awkward angle - it landed on George’s leg. Dream brushed it away absentmindedly.

“And where is the dynamic duo, then? I don’t suppose you finally had enough of them and drowned them in the lake or something?”

Dream doubled over in a wheeze, blade and stick turned so that the flat edges of them rested harmlessly against his chest. “ _What_?” He asked, when he could finally manage it. “Where did _that_ come from.”

“Well I dunno, they aren’t around - and you _were_ saying that Sapnap was being annoying.” George shifted to a more comfortable position against the tree trunk unconcernedly.

“No I didn’t _drown_ them, you _maniac_ ,” Dream said, another wheeze lurking beneath the words. He wiped a tear from his eye and inhaled deeply. “They went to go get the materials for the finishing touches.”

“There’s sand right here, though?”

“Bad didn’t want to ‘ruin the natural aesthetic of the place.’ I think Sapnap was just getting bored and wanted to explore.”

“And you didn’t?”

Dream shrugged. “Somebody needed to stick around in case a creeper strolled along and decided to blow you up, or whatever.” He paused, midway through a cut as something occurred to him, and he turned a big, shit-eating grin George’s way. “I guess that makes me the Prince Charming to your Sleeping Beauty, huh? Protecting you from dangers while you sleep?”

“What? No,” George said, shoving Dream away while the other man laughed. The knife in Dream’s hand vanished into a sheath, and Dream evaded George’s hands as he attempted to lean into George’s personal space.

“How does that story go again? Quick, go back to sleep, you’re getting it wrong - I need to wake you up with a kiss.” Dream pursed his lips teasingly, and George rolled away before stumbling to his feet.

“You’ve lost it,” he said, as Dream cackled and also stood.

“Oh Georgie,” he sang teasingly, and George took off running. The sound of Dream’s maniacal laughter chased him.

George was a good runner - repeated Manhunts and years of being friends with Dream had made him into one - but unfortunately so was Dream, and there wasn’t much space to run. George took off down the boardwalk, hoping to dodge through the community house and lock the door behind him.

Dream figured out what he was doing as soon as he thought of it - being Dream.

“Oh no you don’t!” Dream shouted from just behind him, and George shrieked, mere paces away from the door -

He didn’t realize how _close_ the footsteps were behind him until a heavy weight wrapped around his middle and threw him off balance. He tripped and fell off the side of the boardwalk, straight into the water - Dream following not a moment later.

The water was a cold shock after the easy warmth of the afternoon sunlight. George flailed. He realized after a second that the water wasn’t so deep and he could stand easily, so he redirected the flailing into a smack to Dream’s shoulder - who was having a tough time staying above the surface of the water, wheezing as hard as he was.

“The look on your face!” Dream exclaimed as he barely reacted to the smack. It had been a while since George had seen him so openly delighted - his blond hair was plastered to his scalp, lake water still running in rivulets down his face, but his smile was bight and beaming, and his eyes seemed particularly green as the beginning of the sunset cast everything in a pink haze.

George splashed him so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, and Dream stumbled away, sputtering as he accidentally inhaled in surprise.

“Still being productive, I see,” Bad said dryly from above them. Dream and George looked up - Bad and Sapnap peered down from above the boardwalk, bags of sand and clay strapped to their backs.

“You two looked like drowned rats,” Sapnap informed them.

Bad smacked him in the arm. “Hey! Don’t be mean to Rat.”

“What? I wasn’t being mean to Rat - I was just saying that’s what they looked like,” Sapnap argued as the two of them continued on to the house, leaving Dream and George behind.

Dream was looking at George, that big grin still playing around his lips.

George looked back.

“That wasn’t funny,” he informed Dream. His voice cracked on the last word.

“Of course not,” Dream replied - sloshing a little closer.

“Very immature, even,” George continued, tensing slightly but not moving away.

“Mhm. I apologize.” Dream was standing mere centimeters away, now - this close, his eyes looked even more vibrantly green than before. He had freckles; George hadn’t really noticed that before.

“Good! You should. You should,” George said, as Dreamed leaned slowly in -

\- and pressed a kiss to his nose.

“There,” Dream said. The grin had shifted into something smaller, more private. Sadder, even. “All woken up.”

It took George a moment to find the words. “Well thank you, then. Prince Charming.”

“Anytime,” and Dream’s smile became crooked, as from the door of the nearly completed community house, Sapnap called, “Are you two done flirting and ready to help yet, or do I need to come down there myself?”

“Only if you want a piece of this action!” Dream called back, laughing as he hauled himself back up onto the boardwalk. George began to pull himself up as well, but accepted Dream’s proffered assistance gratefully. Water streamed off them as they started back, to be greeted with Bad’s disapproving squawks and Sapnap’s knowing eye-rolls in their soon-to-be home.

-

That night, George was resting by the campfire that Bad had built them outside the house (“So you quit tracking dirt and water everywhere! Don’t come inside until you’re _dry_!”) when a crudely carved wooden bead was shoved in his face, strung to a simply braided necklace. He looked up - it was Dream.

“This is what I was carving earlier - you don’t have to take it, I’ll probably end up wearing it if you don’t. Just something to remember this all by.” Dream shrugged uncomfortably, trying to play it off as nonchalance.

George picked the necklace out of Dream’s hand, trying but failing to keep from brushing against it. Dream’s skin was callused and warm, and his hand closed slightly around George’s as George pulled away.

“No, I’ll take it. Thank you,” George said - flashing back to the scene in the lake even as he did.

Dream’s expression turned wry. “Like I said - anytime,” he replied. The tips of his fingers trailed over George’s shoulder as he passed by, door to the community house swinging resoundingly shut behind him.

George sighed and considered the stars. The night was peaceful. The fire crackled, frogs croaked on the lakeshore - inside, he could hear the murmur of his friends voice, rising and falling in conversation. It was the most peaceful he'd felt in a long time.

A new world with old friends, and as such a world of possibilities before them.

He could hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, how easily i could slap on a few sentences to the end of this and make this angst. oh, how quickly could the word "prison" or "king" make this turn.............. perhaps even a rude awakening, as george realizes that it was all a nostalgic dream.  
> but no, i will refrain.
> 
> it's almost *more* difficult to write fluff than angst, with the content on dsmp these days


	7. melancholia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo has a panic attack and Technoblade accidentally snaps him out of it. Through good intentions and fortunate timing, things begin to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _'Oh what the hell' she says 'I just can't win for losing'  
>  And she lays back down  
> Man there's so many times  
> I don't know what I'm doin'  
> Like I don't know now  
>   
> By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes  
> Says it's funny how the night can make you blind  
> I can just imagine  
> And I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
> But if she feels bad then I do, too  
> So I let her be_  
>   
> \- Her Diamonds, Rob Thomas

The fear had struck with a vengeance this morning.

He’d woken up like he normally did, these days - hands scraped and blistered, tools so used up that they were nearly falling apart, and a strange, nameless lethargy weighing his bones. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

He opened his eyes and noticed his memory book lying open on the floor; he must’ve been holding it as he fell asleep.

Blearily he slid out of the covers and bent over to pick it up. The morning was cold - well, it was always cold here, so that was no surprise. He needed to put in some real windows. And he was assuming it was morning, but it could’ve really been any point of the day. He had no idea when he’d gone to bed, after all.

He picked up the book, and flipped to the most recent page.

He was somewhat expecting it, dread heavy in the pit of his stomach, but he still groaned and let the book fall from his hands once more as he saw the most recent entry:

Nothing but a :)

The blisters on his hands stung as he pulled at his hair.

_What_ was he _doing_? What was _happening_ to him?

Questions he couldn’t answer spiraled in his head, and he lost himself to a panic attack as the angle of the indiscriminate sunlight slowly shifted.

-

He surfaced slightly as the snow crunched outside, but he was used to the sound by now. It could’ve been anything - snow bunnies playing, one of Techno’s polar bears milling about, even the man himself making his way to the mysterious location he visited regularly just past Ranboo’s mountain, which Ranboo was not supposed to know about and therefore did not mention.

What was abnormal, though, was that the crunching of snow came up to and stopped just outside his door.

Ranboo looked up as a fist rapped against the wood of the doorframe.

“Ranboo, I got this extra turtle helmet, ’n I know you don’t like the water ’n all, so I was wonderin’ - “ Techno’s voice carried in from outside, followed by his head a moment later. He cut off as he saw Ranboo’s condition. “Oh. Um.”

Ranboo opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi Technoblade.”

“Hi, Ranboo. You… you doin’ alright?”

“No, not really.” Ranboo rubbed at his face. A shudder rocked his body as he started to slowly come back to himself.

“Ok. Um, that’s… not good.” Techno glanced behind himself, back towards the house. He clearly didn’t know what to do.

Ranboo chuckled wetly, and took a deep breath as the motion irritated cramped muscles. “I’ll be alright. Don’t worry - this happens a lot. I’m used to it.”

“Uh… huh. Alright. Then I’ll just - I’ll just let you…” Techno’s head withdrew, and Ranboo wasn’t particularly surprised as he heard the crunch of snow signaling Techno’s retreat.

Like he said, this happened a lot. He was used to it.

What was surprising, though, was that the footsteps only went a short distance away before coming right back again.

Techno poked his head back in. “Hey, uh, Ranboo,” he said, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I know that you’re, uh - uh, in the middle of somethin’ - but I was just thinkin’, um - Phil ’n I are doin’ dinner right now, and I was wonderin’ if you’d like to join in. Not that you have to, or anythin’, don’t feel obligated - it’s just, we always have leftovers, ‘cause Phil cooks too much - and, and, you know how it is. You’re more than welcome.”

Ranboo stared at him, and Techno scratched the back of his neck.

The silence stretched.

“Alright, well I’ll just be goin’, then - “ Techno laughed awkwardly, trying to play the situation off.

“I’ll go,” Ranboo said abruptly.

“What?”

“I’ll go. I’ll, uh, go with you. Just, um,” Ranboo scrambled to see his feet, stumbling as stiff muscles protested the long hours of tension and lack of use. “Just give me a second.”

“Sure, sure,” Techno shrugged and pulled back from the doorway.

Ranboo shoved the memory book into his ender chest - his fingers had been clenched around it for so long that it hurt to flex them - and hurriedly looked himself over.

He was a mess. He scrubbed at his face, but it was no use - the burn welts caused by the tear tracks for at least the rest of the day.

What a useless piece of crap he was. He took a deep breath and headed for the door.

-

The walk to the house that Techno and Phil’s house was blessedly short - he and Techno spent it in uneasy silence. The blast of warm light and warm air that swept out as Techno opened the door was a stark contrast to the dark cold of his own home, as it was currently.

There was a pot of stew bubbling gently over the fire; Philza sat next to it, paging through a book on his lap as he waited. He glanced up as they entered.

“Techno - oh, and Ranboo! What a surprise - a happy one, of course.”

Phil looked them over, and his eyebrows came together in concern. Ranboo braced for the inevitable questions that he wouldn’t have satisfying answers to.

“Ranboo, where’s your coat? Wearing just that suit - you must be freezing! Techno, give him your cloak. No, don’t give me that look - I know you’ve got on a dozen layers anyways.”

“We’re already inside, Phil. The kid’s fine.” Techno raised his eyes heavenward as he strolled past - but he unclipped his cloak as he did so, and slung it over Ranboo’s shoulders. Ranboo gripped it out of reflex.

A smile started to grow on Phil’s face, and Techno rolled his eyes again, even more exaggeratedly this time. “I was gonna take it off anyways,” he muttered.

“Then I don’t see why you had to make such a big deal out of it,” Phil shot back. He got to his feet and gave the soup a stir, as Techno started pulling out bowls and silverware.

“Its about the _principle_ of the thing, Phil - if I start doin’ things like givin’ out my cloak all willy-nilly then people are gonna start _expectin’_ stuff like that from me. I gotta maintain appearances. I’ll be wantin’ that back before you leave,” he said, pointing a spoon in Ranboo’s direction. Ranboo flinched, and hurried to shrug the cloak off.

“Uh, sorry - you can have it back - I’m really not that cold,” he stuttered as he did so.

  
Phil walked over and pulled the cloak back up over his shoulders, then patted him on the back. “Don’t let Techno bother you - he only pretends to be gruff to cover up the fact that he’s a big softie.”

“I can still evict you,” Techno said dryly, eyeing the two of them.

Phil grinned. It looked a little more like a baring of teeth. “Then do it, motherfucker.”

“Maybe after dinner.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

The pot of soup was pulled off the fire and placed atop pot holders on the table, to protect the wood from the heat of it. Phil began ladling soup into bowls - Techno took a seat, a the knife and cutting a fresh loaf of breadinto generous portions. He gave Ranboo a pointed look, then glanced at the chair.

After another moment, Ranboo sat down. Phil hummed contentedly, and Techno even bestowed an awkward, guarded smile upon him for his compliance.

It had been an awful day. It had been an awful day, in an awful week, in an awful month, in an awful year. Ranboo still didn’t know where he went, in the hours where he wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he did.

But he could feel something inside himself thawing, as he laughed cautiously at a joke Techno had cracked and Phil beamed at him like he’d personally done the man a favor.

He could feel something easing as he dipped buttered bread into the steaming soup and thought about how he hadn’t even considered eating tonight - how he'd likely would've just sat hunched in that corner until sweet, thoughtless oblivion consumed him once more. Phil and Techno didn’t ask about the burns running from his eyes, and Ranboo didn’t ask about where they’d been disappearing to all week, and it was - it was nice. It was warm.

It was good.

He didn’t like picking sides, but he got the feeling that… well, if push came to shove, that there was a lot that he would give, for these people. For this place.

Ranboo ate his soup, and for a while his darker thoughts were beyond him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if we can "ranboo my beloved" our way outta this one, boys
> 
> btw - as a person who struggles with some of the same things that ranboo's character does (short of blacking out and attempting to free a green troglodyte from azkaban) i think it's important to say that you can't just 'fix' mentally ill people, and particularly not just with one night of soup and conversation. that said, writing this made me really want a night of soup and conversation, particularly were it with these three. shrug.


	8. Fallen Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8: Fallen Down
> 
> Tubbo and Ranboo share a quiet, easy moment as they watch the snow fall.  
> (Extra scene from my fic "Warden".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - Fallen Down, Undertale OST
> 
> This is little scene I wanted to write but couldn't quite work into the main plot, from my fic Warden. It could also be viewed as a continuation from an earlier chapter of this fic, "Pale White Horse." The basic background is - AU where Dream killed Tubbo and jailed Tommy in the season finale. Tubbo comes back as a ghost and looks to claim a canon life from each of the people who took one of his. He gets Sapnap out of the way first, then begins his campaign against Techno.

It was a snowy evening. Tubbo couldn’t go out in the snow - not now that he was a ghost.

Technoblade was sharpening his sword, cozy in his cabin. Tubbo could see him just through the window.

Ranboo couldn’t go out in the snow, either.

They sat together, safely beneath the overhang of Ranboo’s house, and watched it fall.

“Did you ever think this was how things would turn out?” Ranboo asked eventually, breaking the comfortable silence between them. Tubbo looked over.

“What - dying?”

“Well, not in so many words - “ Ranboo coughed awkwardly. In some ways Tubbo felt like Ranboo was less over Tubbo’s death than _Tubbo_ was _-_ it wasn’t really obvious, but somewhere in the morass of Ranboo’s very complicated mind, there was something still very raw over the fact that Tubbo had died just as their friendship was beginning.

And the Tubbo that sat with him now wasn’t quite the same. It was a game of what-if’s - which was, Tubbo supposed, what might’ve prompted Ranboo’s question.

“Not really. But then, I don’t tend to really think about that stuff at all. Even now, I’m not like… I dunno. It just is.” Tubbo shrugged. “I mean, I thought about it before I went off with Tommy - whether I might die or not. I considered it. But if there was a time where I sat around and sighed over how much better things could’ve been, I’m already well past it. Life sucks. Does you no good to dwell on it.”

Ranboo thought about that. “I mean, is it really _life_ that sucks if you’re dead?”

Tubbo laughed. “Good point. Life _and_ death sucks - how about that?”

“Mhm, mhm, yes, makes sense.” Ranboo had started grinning when Tubbo laughed - the expression died a slow death on his face now, as his eyes went back to the snow.

It made Tubbo sad, for some reason, to watch. He twirled in the air so that his foot connected lightly with the side of Ranboo’s head - Ranboo shoved him away, rolling his eyes. “Hey. Ranboo.”

“Yeah, Tubbo?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh - well, royal blue, actually. It’s a good color. What’s yours?”

“Green.” Tubbo spun idly again. Ranboo leaned out of the way of his foot this time.

“Ranboo.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mind it so much. The being dead, that is. It’s really not all that different - I mean, it’s got all these _conditions_ , sure, but so does living. And when I’m done, I’ll die for real - which, I never thought I’d come back as a ghost, so it’s the same as the last few months of my life.” Tubbo’s lazy orbit made it such that he couldn’t see Ranboo’s expression - he tipped over so that he was upside down. Lacking blood to rush to his head, there was no physical discomfort to the position, but it _was_ still difficult to decipher expressions whilst inverted.

And Ranboo was bearing a complicated one.

“Yeah, but when you were _alive_ , you had like… goals, and stuff. You weren’t just living to kill people. I mean, that’s it, right? ‘When you’re done’ - you mean when you’ve taken a life from Technoblade and Dream. That’s when you’ll… you’ll die. Like, permanently. How can you be ok with that?”

Tubbo flipped over so that he was lying on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him and chin propped up by his hand as he considered his friend.

“The same way that I’m ok with everything that’s happened to me in this server. I’m really not. But it’s happening to me regardless.”

“But you could just say no, Tubbo! You don’t - there’s nothing _making_ you do this, right? No sort of… like, supernatural compunction? Or anything?”

Tubbo huffed. “If you’re asking if God’s holding a Glock to my head and making me murder people in the afterlife, then no - though now that I say it, that _does_ sound pretty cool. You gotta admit.”

“Yeah, that does sound kinda cool,” Ranboo agreed reluctantly after a pause, and Tubbo laughed and straightened to clap his hands victoriously. “ _But_ ,” Ranboo continued, raising his voice over the din. “ _But_ , then why bother with any of it? If it’s just… you. If you’re doing it ‘cause you want to.”

“Well.” Tubbo sobered and considered what Ranboo was saying seriously, for the first time this conversation. “God may not have a Glock to my head, but it’s not really… I’m not doing this for _fun_ , Ranboo. It’s a matter of justice. Dream and Techno, nobody can stand up to them ‘cause they’re just so powerful. Lord knows I tried to enough while I was alive. But now that I’m dead, I actually stand a chance. Y’know - I can make gods bleed, prove that they’re not invulnerable to the living - all that jazz.” He shrugged again and with that seemed to lose interest in the conversation. He flipped to being upside down again, then spun himself like a top.

“I have to say, you _cannot_ do this while you’re living - and you’re missing out, man, it’s pretty awesome.” Laughter bubbled through as he spoke, and his voice didn’t shake or change despite the violent motion.

Ranboo watched him with some frustration, then took a deep breath. Tubbo stopped.

“Don’t sigh at me.”

“I wasn’t sighing!”

“You were! You were sighing because you want to try and convince me to not kill anybody for like, the eighty-seventh time, and I can’t be bothered with it. And I don’t think that’s fair. I don’t come here and question _your_ life choices.”

“Yeah, you do! You do that all the time!”

Tubbo’s mouth quivered with a suppressed grin. He lasted all of a few seconds before giving in and laughing. “Ok, maybe I do. But _to be fair_ ,” he added as Ranboo threw his hands up, “You’re friends with both Technoblade _and_ Dream, so think that I’m _perfectly_ justified in asking some pointed questions.”

“How can you say that and get annoyed with _me_ for asking pointed questions of my own?”

“‘Cause I don’t want to have to answer them,” Tubbo whined. He kicked at Ranboo again. “They’re always so deep and intense and philosophical. All I wanna do is shoot some bastards and call it a day.” He mimed firing his crossbow - which was resting, neglected, by the door.

Ranboo frowned. “Die, you mean. Not just ‘call it a day’ - really, permanently die.”

“Yeah, well,” Tubbo looked away uncomfortably, and an awkward silence descended upon them.

After a while, Ranboo said, “And I’m not really friends with either of those guys. We just talk, is all.”

“You gave Techno a fully enchanted Netherite axe and he took you on a mentorship bonding montage - I think you two are friends,” Tubbo shot back acidly.

Ranboo raised his hands. “Alright, alright, yeah - you may have a point there.” Tubbo snorted and Ranboo grinned a little at him. “So we’re friends. That doesn’t mean Dream and I are - and that doesn’t mean I’m on Techno’s _side_. I think you can be friends with somebody without automatically taking their side in a fight - “

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve been over your philosophies about all this stuff before,” Tubbo cut him off, waving a hand dismissively.

Another beat of silence, this one easier. “I still don’t get why you talk to Dream, though,” Tubbo said after a while. “I mean, you _know_ he was the one who killed me. I’ve told you like a billion times.”

“Yeah, well,” Ranboo shrugged uncomfortably. “I mean, I certainly don’t _like_ that - but I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t at least hear his side of things first. And Dream’s… he’s interesting. He’s got a lot to say.”

“I imagine he does. His villain monologue lasted _forever_ ,” Tubbo said, rolling his eyes. Ranboo huffed.

“Yeah, he does get pretty windy. But I dunno, Tubbo - I know you’re all for the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ mentality right now, but I think the only way to a truly better world is if we all understand each other. And understanding stems from listening - from respecting somebody’s perspective and really _listening_ to what they have to say before you pass judgments on them. So that’s just what I’m trying to do.”

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t disagree further - just kind of sighed.

The snow kept falling.

“I like you, Ranboo,” he said after a while.

Ranboo looked over at him. “I like you too,” he replied. “Anything… any particular reason to say that?”

“No. I just… thought it best to say it now, I suppose.”

Ranboo hummed and looked back outside. “Alright then. Well, I like you too, Tubbo. And I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad that I ended up here, too. Y'know - if only for a little while.”

The snow kept falling. Technoblade kept sharpening his sword, clearly visible within the warm lantern light spilling out the windows of his home.

Tubbo’s crossbow remained by the doorway for the rest of that quiet, peaceful night.


End file.
